


Compass

by CupidStrikes



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupidStrikes/pseuds/CupidStrikes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The disappointment has never gotten any easier to bear but Tokiya has become a fine actor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compass

Compass

 

_What does tomorrow want from me?_  
 _What does it matter what I see?_  
 _If I can't choose my own design,_  
 _tell me where do we draw the line?_

 

“You've been like a son to me.”

Tokiya has to force himself to stare out of the window and hope that his reflection is unclear enough that the President can't see how much those words hurt him. They're not meant that way, he's sure, but that thought doesn't help much at all. The older man looks resigned, and calm in his hospital bed, unlike his fury from earlier, and Tokiya knows the words are sincere, and not intended to manipulate him into staying out of guilt. He wonders, though, if the President knows the full weight of what he has said.

Logically, he must do. Tokiya met the President when he was fifteen. It had been at some talent contest or something, he can't quite recall the details, but the man had been eager to meet his family and have them sign the contract to allow their son to enter his agency and train professionally. Tokiya did recall the dread as he had been forced to hand over the sheet he had filled in, and the stray hope that maybe the President, back then even more intimidating as he towered over Tokiya by a foot, would be unable to read the scratchy black pen marks and would let Tokiya just take the form himself. The man had been excited about the talent he had scouted, however, and had insisted on meeting them in person. He didn't recall the President's visit aside from his mother shutting the door so that the _adults_ could talk. A petulant part of himself still insisted that this had been unfair. He hadn't missed, though, the way that the man's eyes had lingered on the cut up photographs on the mantelpiece, and having to give a two-word answer to the silent question.

_He left._

The President's expression had made him angry at the time. Tokiya didn't need his pity. What did he care if his father had walked out because his son was turning out like _that_. He hadn't planned to go to the second audition at all, and certainly not the formal meeting with the President but his mother had insisted. Had all but dragged him there. Resistance was futile, and he ought to try and at least please one parent. He attended the next few meetings alone, and nodded along to everything the President said. Met Himuro, and the countless and faceless stylists, teachers, make up artists. Tokiya had learned patience fast, and soon accustomed to the numerous ritual-like procedures before and after shows. It had started small, of course, and might have fizzled out all too soon, especially after the accident that had landed him in hospital for nearly two months. Tokiya wasn't even sure the hospital, the children, that song, would have been enough. It had been the President again, who had visited him with more regularity than his own mother, and had offered him some parting words on song writing late one evening.

_Write as if no one will ever read or hear the words._

Tokiya had been discharged the following morning, and had limped home to write. He was at the agency less than twenty-four hours later, having written something that had refused to let him sleep. He hadn't ever had inspiration that seemed to suffocate him before. His writing teacher had advised he “ _murder his darlings”_ , but Tokiya hadn't been able to bring himself to pare back anything from this particular piece. He circled the last period and closed his notebook, waited for seven in the morning and had left the house. The President had been surprised, but had taken it in his stride. Looking back, Tokiya knew he was fortunate that the man had been so lenient. Most would have taken little interest and only then if an appointment had been made. Not this one. He had shaken his head and told Tokiya that the girl he had written it for must be very fortunate, and had laughed off Tokiya's attempts to discard that thought.

There had been no girl, though. Not back then, anyway. It made the composers happy, though, and made his fans squeal and write letters expressing their desire that his next song make them feel as special as that. Tokiya supposed it was just as well. If the feelings behind the song had gotten across, even to an unintended audience, then he had nothing to complain about.

He's still unsure anyone else truly understood, even after all his other songs have been merely substandard graspings at that one moment of true clarity. He's unsure he can write something like that again. The disappointment has never gotten any easier to bear, but Tokiya has become a fine actor, and agrees he can do better. Will do better. Next time.

“Are you tired?” The question startles Tokiya out of his daze, and he turns slightly back towards the bed before he remembers himself. He shakes his head once. Declines to answer. They both know he's lying; healthy people don't collapse in car parks. Tokiya knows his concentration has been irregular and sloppy these past few weeks. He could blame it on Himuro's suddenly packed schedule, or on his moonlighting at Saotome Academy, but the blame is his alone. He chose this.

“Is HAYATO tired?” Tokiya does look at the president this time, briefly, and then off at the yellow walls again. If he were to think of HAYATO as another entity then....yes, Tokiya thinks. His exhaustion with everything lies in HAYATO alone, and not within himself. Not anymore. No...Haruka had taken care of that. He looks at his bag on the plastic chair, and hears the first faint chords on the manuscript inside, and remembers her words.

“ _Your song...it saved me. Please sing. Please.”_

He promises to call the President when he gets back, wishes him all the best. Himuro's presence is unexpected, and there is a long list of things Tokiya thinks he might like to say to him, but he keeps his tongue still and runs for a taxi.

He will try once more. Knows Haruka will give him this, and that this time she will get all of him. He cannot disappoint her.

 

_So why do we keep up this charade_  
 _and how do we tell apart the time to leave_  
 _from the time to wait?_

**Author's Note:**

> Took some liberties with Tokiya's past as finding specific details from the games and other material has proved difficult. Bet Tokiya's episode totally josses all those liberties in two weeks. I also know very little of how the relationship between an agency president and an idol works, or that of an idol and their agent/manager, so I've made some assumptions and been very vague. I do know a thing or two about writing, though, so that I at least know is legit.
> 
> Italicised lyrics are from Where Do We Draw the Line? by Poets of the Fall.
> 
> A second part is forthcoming.


End file.
